


The Thing About Cormac

by aibidil



Series: 'Sup, Broship [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Animal Transformation, Crack, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-17 00:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12353463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibidil/pseuds/aibidil
Summary: The thing about Cormac is, well. Ron's not quite sure.





	The Thing About Cormac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TDCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TDCat/gifts).



> This is for **tdcat** , **silvered glass** , and **synonymforlife**. And everyone else who has been a part of this hot mess. (I have no regrets. I have some regrets.)

Ron couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous; probably that time Voldemort had killed his best mate and seemed poised to take over the world. He took a deep breath and walked home through the Floo.

Harry and Draco were in the kitchen, where he knew they would be. Draco was ranting about something and Harry was laughing while he chopped garlic. A regular day.

Ron walked into the kitchen. “Hey.” They stopped talking.

“Hey mate, how was your day?” Harry asked.

Ron couldn’t answer. He just stood there.

“Weasel, are you alright?” Draco asked, smirking. “You look like Potter used to look after seeing a dementor.”

Harry’s brow scrunched. “Seriously, Ron, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he managed. “I just, I just have to tell you something, and I don’t know how to tell you.”

Harry put down the knife and sat at the table next to Draco. Harry’s eyes were wide, concerned, behind his glasses. Draco looked delighted at the prospect of hearing news that might make for good blackmail.

There was no way he could tell them—they would never understand. Bloody hell, _he_ didn’t understand! But the thing about Cormac was that he made Ron want to tell the truth, to be honest, to not be embarrassed about anything.

“Do you want me to fetch some Veritaserum, Weasley, to help this process along?” Draco asked, and it seemed to be a sincere offer.

“ _I’m fucking McLaggen!”_ ” he yelled, and fled the room.

*

Ron woke up to a clanging noise that made his head ache. He’d had one too many pints the night before and it was bloody early, what the fuck was that clanging? He opened one eye.

Cormac had found an enormous barbell—from where, Ron had no idea. He was sure he didn’t have any in his flat. Cormac was doing dead lifts, and every ten or so reps he would drop the barbell onto the ground with a horrendous _grunt._

“Cormac,” Ron groaned, “what the bloody fuck are you doing?”

“Oh, morning,” Cormac said, smiling, through panting breaths. “Did I wake you?”

“A bit, yeah,” Ron said, and pressed a pillow over his head.

“Go back to sleep, yeah,” Cormac said. “I’m making french toast out of fucking cinnamon buns in a few minutes. It’s going to be wicked. You’ve got vanilla, right?”

The thing about Cormac was that he was just so bloody motivated about _everything._ If Ron felt like sleeping, Cormac dragged him to a boat race. If Ron was feeling cynical about something, Cormac would make it fun. If Ron was hungover, Cormac would make french toast.

“Mmmmhmm,” Ron confirmed. “Make some bloody tea, will you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Cormac said, and the barbell hit the floor again with a “garrrrrrrghhhhhhhh.” “I’m going to need your blender, too.”

“For french toast?” Ron mumbled, his voice obscured by the pillow.

“No.” Cormac laughed—the laugh was either patronising or affectionate, Ron couldn’t quite decide—as if Ron was adorable for thinking that a blender was part of his french toast ambitions. “I brought over my cookies ‘n’ cream protein powder for my smoothie. Can I borrow a pair of socks?”

*

Ron had finally convinced Harry and Draco to join them for a movie night. Well, he’d finally convinced _Draco;_ he was pretty sure that Harry would’ve agreed straight away, because _Harry_ was a good friend.

They were watching _Braveheart_.

Ron and Harry were perfect movie-watching companions. They enjoyed the same snacks, they laughed at the same jokes, they wanted to talk at the same parts, they wanted to watch in silence at the same parts.

When they’d added Draco to the mix a few years ago, it had been a hard adjustment for Ron. First of all, Draco insisted on making cheese platters. What the fuck did they need a cheese platter for if they could just have a giant bag of crisps? Second, Draco liked to pause the movie every five minutes to launch into a protracted rant about something that was happening on screen. Third, Harry wasn’t annoyed by any of this at all, which was fucking annoying. Ron had to sit there bored out of his bloody mind while Harry made doe eyes (stag eyes?) at a gesticulating Malfoy.

But they’d worked it out.

Adding Cormac to the movie-night mix had seemed like it might be the thing that finally broke Harry and Ron’s friendship.

The thing about Cormac was that he insisted on baked goods. Which, really, no one had an issue with, because even Draco Malfoy enjoyed a nice gooey cookie straight from the oven. The problem was that every recipe took Cormac four times longer than he anticipated. Today, Cormac had shown up wearing a Canadian hockey shirt, carrying a box of confetti cake mix, and a print-out of a recipe for cake pops.

He’d come through the Floo forty minutes late, slapped Ron on the arse (which, really, was one thing when they were alone but another thing with Draco Perfect-Manners Malfoy in the room), and started mixing up batter. Draco had been impatient before Cormac even arrived, and was nearly apoplectic by the time the batter went in the oven.

“McLaggen,” Draco drawled, “if you’re going to insist on preposterous Muggle confections, could you at least see to it that they’re ready on time? Because we told you that movie night always starts exactly at eight.”

Cormac grinned. “You’re just a ball of sunshine, aren’t you, bro?” He punched Draco on the shoulder, chuckling.

Draco had spun around, clearly outraged, and Harry’d had to pull him out of the room.

Two hours later, cake pops made, the four finally sat down to watch _Braveheart._

It was the worst movie night of all time, Ron would later tell anyone who would listen. Draco had paused after twenty minutes to pull out an Encyclopedia (where had he even gotten that? Did he carry it with him?) and lecture them all about the First War of Scottish Independence. But the real icing on the cake (pop) had been when Cormac burst into tears during the movie.

Ron looked at Harry and they gave each other a “this is all your fault” sort of look.

*

Cormac had declared that “Blow Job Tuesdays” were a thing.

“No, no, no, hear me out,” he’d said, his neon-pink Ray Bans glinting in the sun as they sat eating Mr Whippeys in the park. “Tuesday is the worst day of the week. Everyone agrees on that. Call your mum and ask her, ‘What’s the worst day of the week.’ Hold on.” He proceeded to pull out a phone and call his mum.

His mum, of course, said Tuesday, and Ron was just glad that Cormac had ended the call without further explanation.

“See?” Cormac said with what Draco called his “shit-eating grin.” “So we game the system.”

“How is this gaming the system?”

Cormac raised his sunglasses, resting them on the top of his curly brown hair. “Ron, think about it. If Tuesday is the worst day of the week, and we make it into a day where you’re guaranteed to get a blowie,” he paused for a moment, “who’s won?”

Ron couldn’t help it. He’d smiled.

The thing about Cormac was that he was usually right, in a really odd, unexpected sort of way. Why _shouldn’t_ they have blow jobs every Tuesday? Why shouldn’t they rely on that stability in their lives? When the rest of the world was a dumpster fire, shouldn’t they be able to count on a blow job as the calm in the storm? It was flawless logic, really.

His mouth was on Cormac’s cock, which was sort of average-sized but looked maybe a bit smaller than expected next to the girth of his well-exercised muscles.

“Oh, fuck, _yes,_ that’s it, suck it, Weasley, suck it so good, suck that cock!”

Cormac didn’t need to know that Ron had learned a spell for muting his hearing for the entirety of Cormac’s blow-job ecstasy.

*

“Ron,” Cormac said one morning from in front of the mirror where he’d been casting charms at his hair to refresh his frosted tips, “let’s become Animagi.”

“What?” Ron said, incredulous, with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

“Let’s become Animagi!” Cormac turned around, and his eyes were full of absolutely infectious excitement. “We can, like, go hunt in the jungle together, or something. It will be brilliant.”

“What if I’m, like, a weasel, and you’re, like, a shark?” Ron asked. “We really don’t know what kind of gallivanting we’ll be able to do.”

“Bro,” Cormac said, really accentuating the word, “who cares? We’ll be _animals.”_ His eyes were fiery and he was so honestly enthusiastic that Ron couldn’t say no. No, more than that, it made Ron _want_ to say yes.

And the thing about Cormac was that he was extremely committed. If he committed to an idea, be it cake pops or Animagi transfiguration, he would follow through. Other people always assumed Cormac was a flake (Ginny had once called him a “mimbo”), but the reality was anything but. He was thoughtless, sometimes, sure, but he was possibly the most committed person Ron had ever met.

Cormac had never once faltered in his determination to become an Animagi. He’d bought the mandrake leaf that very day. When Ron seemed to be at risk of forgetting or giving up (around day ten), Cormac had run up behind him with a slap on the arse. “Hey Ron,” he’d said, popping a fresh mandrake leaf in his own mouth. “I’ve got something for you,” and he’d leaned in for a kiss.

*

Ron grimaced. “I’m not sure I’m ready,” he admitted with a frown.

“Bro,” Cormac said, turning and holding both of Ron’s shoulders. “ _Bro._ I don’t like to hear shit like that from you. Success is, like, ninety parts sweat.”

Ron was quite certain Cormac was remembering that aphorism wrong, but the thought was reassuring.

The thing about Cormac was that he always seemed to say the perfect (stupid) thing to get Ron out of whatever weird headspace he was in.

“Okay,” Ron said. “Okay. Do it together?”

“Yes!” Cormac enthused. “This is going to be so wicked!”

They sat and went through the process, the potion, the meditation. Ron secretly wondered whether he’d be able to do it—it wasn’t easy, after all. None of his siblings had ever become an Animagus! What if he couldn’t?

But five minutes later, they were both animals. Ron looked out of his strangely configured eyes. He was staring at a duck. Cormac was a fucking _duck?_

Ron was on the same level—what the hell was he? He tried to reach his arm to touch his face and a terrifying flapping occurred. Well that certainly seemed like a bloody _wing._

The duck—Cormac, Corduck—pecked at Ron’s neck, and Ron peered down. He was a fucking _swan._

After they’d both managed to Transfigure back into humans, Cormac had jumped, kicking his legs up behind him. He let out an enormous whoop, punching the air.

“Why are you so excited about this?” Ron said, but he knew he was grinning like a maniac, too. They’d _done it._

“Let’s go to the fucking pond, Weasley! I’m going to eat some old lady’s bread! You know how much I fucking love carbs!”

*

One of the first things they’d decided, after successfully completing the Animagus transfiguration, was that they needed to use their new skill to torment Harry and Draco. Mostly they wanted to torment Draco, but Harry went with Draco.

They hadn’t told anyone about their Animagi. Cormac figured that they could scare the pants off of Harry and Draco by waking up at 4am and waddling into Harry’s room, silently, then pecking and squawking at them in a flurry of feathers.

Ron had bowled over laughing, because really, it did sound like the perfect prank. The next morning, Cormac’s wand alarm sounded, playing “Eye of the Tiger.” They got up, all aflutter with nerves, and transfigured into waterfowl.

Cormac went first, waddling out of the room (they’d carefully left the doors ajar before they went to bed), and Ron followed, trying to keep his neck straight. He could hear the soft patter of Cormac’s webbed feet on the hall floor. Cormac waited for Ron, and they nudged open the door with their beaks together.

They did not expect to see Draco, starkers, on the bed, thrusting his hips up to meet Harry, also starkers, who was currently impaling himself on Draco’s cock.

Had Ron been a human, he probably would’ve tripped, but he wasn’t quite used to his wings yet and he somehow managed to flap himself off the floor into the wall.

Harry, who had been mid-moan, screamed, falling off of Draco, which meant that Ron could now see _both_ of their cocks, and he might be bi or pan or whatever the hell he was but he was absolutely _certain_ he was not interested in _those_ cocks.

Cormac seemed concerned about Ron, who had hit the wall fairly hard, and came waddling over, but Draco pulled his wand and cast _Flipendo_ at Cormac.

Ron flew into action, literally, flying across the room and knocking Cormac out of the way. Cormac lay on his side, his webbed feet kicking in the air.

Realising there was no way out of this situation as long as they remained waterfowl, Ron transfigured back into his human form. Cormac followed.

The thing about Cormac was that he had strong feelings about sleeping naked. He thought it was necessary to prevent jock itch, which was something Ron really didn’t want to experience, so he’d gone along with it.

So now they were all four naked. Some stray feathers blew across the room.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then Cormac announced, “Right. I’m making pancakes.”

Draco turned to Harry. “That’s _it._ We’re getting our own flat.”


End file.
